The Red Devil
by BravelySheWrote
Summary: With her face pressed against the cool floor, she remembered how for so long all she had felt was a lingering cold. She wasn't meant to be here, but somehow the tingling warmth of his gloved hand told her otherwise, as he picked her up and showed her the future. Despite all this, she couldn't help but let her fingertips spread against what once was.


Disclaimer: I do not own The Dark Knight or any of the franchise, but I do own my character and others I may create along the way.

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"The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall."

-Che Guevara

 **The Fallen**

If you were of an optimistic nature, you may have believed that life could be as it was, or rather as it should have been once again, but life never went back for anyone. The tides didn't turn to the beginning leap, but left off from the last. Our futures were what mattered and no matter how many stared at their past through frosted windows, it could be conceived that the frost was there as a warning: to warn those who sought a life forgotten, that they would only feel the cold reach their fingertips. And as her fingertips tried to wipe away the telltale of winter, she felt a coldness in her heart emerge, one that would return with the furiosity of the frost once the city slept again.

 _It hasn't always been this way,_ she thought to herself while picking up the remnants of her scattered groceries. She's been known to get lost in her thoughts and today was of no exception, since now bread lay sunken into the pavement, sad and bruised, while the apples mischievously rolled across the sidewalk, some finding themselves in quite the predicament, one especially so. Concrete buildings use to give her solace, to be surrounded by such promise of growth and adventure, but now it has become a cage. Shining red like a beacon, the most mischievous of all apples glared a challenge at the woman, to step into the dark cage between the two decrepit buildings. She pondered the challenge and decided that she would not let this apple or her paranoia of dark alleyways become the downfall of her courage. She soon stepped inside the claustrophobic like cage, determined only to emerge the victor and later end up with an apple pie as revenge towards this playful red devil.

However, an apple pie may not be the best of ideas when it came to the streets of Gotham, since they were paved with dirt, suspicious stains, and other unmentionables _._ Just last month she had heard about a woman walking home from the grocery store _just like her_ only to end up sliced like a watermelon with one of her fresh pears bitten into, the green fruit left by the phone still dialing for help. While she rarely read the news, everyone gabbed about how odd it was for her purse to remain untouched. Since she wasn't walking home, but back to work, the series of events were at least slightly different from the horrific news story and hopefully the unmentionables her apple may have rolled in, did not include the remnants of the pear lady.

 _But revenge would be sweet_ , she promised with a smirk as her back bent and fingers curled around red flesh, foolishly discarding her fears. Before her plan for revenge could be thoroughly appreciated, she could have sworn she heard a laugh and not only did her fingers feel a sudden frost, but a chill traveled up her spine, as she attempted to quickly straighten it, and froze her heart without mercy. She'd be damned if she just stood around. Sucking air into her lungs, she ran, forgetting her efforts and trying to disappear quickly, as she heard the faint rustle of clothes shifting in movement along with the clanking of heavy shoes.

If one had been watching the display, they would have seen shoes of an odd color choice step onto the sunken bread and flatten the rest of its sad life out of existence. They would have also heard the telltale crunch of an apple and seen a gleaming red, twirling around a set of fingers, unmistakable even from a distance. Luckily for Mabel, she hadn't seen and therefore she could tell herself it never happened, but she had heard the crunch that she knew would haunt her dreams that night. This was why revenge was left for those who could stomach it because Mabel had a feeling that she had run for a very solid reason and not just silly fright. A woman's intuition was usually right, Mabel would proclaim.

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Pushing through the revolving door and staring across at the marble floor with golden designs, Mabel acutely remembered why she had felt such hope for the city. At her age she had never experienced much out of the ordinary and marble tiles squared with gold did strike her as the beginning of unordinary. Watching those around her walk on this gorgeous floor, with their tall heels and professional leather boots, she saw that no one else took any interest in something so insignificant that she use to marvel at daily, admittedly still does.

But perhaps these tiles and other small details could remain her personal treasure if no one else took such an interest in them. It was a comfort to keep these details secret and hoard their deserved admiration from others. Reaching into her dark knitted bag, she struggled around its confines, pushing her chap stick more than once out of the way, to locate the elusive name tag.

"Ha!" She proclaimed to the unamused security guard who snatched the name tag away, briefly looking at the label that read _Wayne Enterprises_ before swiping it crudely against the machine, which resounded with a confirming beep and flashed green to enhance its decision. "Have a good day Miss Ridley," he said in a voice that actually meant _please have a horrible day and spill ketchup all over that white blouse of yours_. Ever polite she responded equally, but left the ketchup part out.

Stepping into the elevator was like throwing herself in the middle of a mosh pit since people pushed and shoved trying to see how much room they could possibly get for their own. No one seemed satisfied with acting like a sardine and this explained a few of Mabel's bruises, which her friend Carly often joked was from an overenthusiastic, steamy love session. That theory had more than once left her with heated cheeks attempting to smother her, especially that time she was at fancy Italian restaurant where she ended up sputtering nonsense at the refined waiter in feeble attempts to order.

Shaking that thought away, she tried to make herself as small as possible until the elevator door opened and as it did, she prepared herself for the rough and fast movements that followed. Tearing herself away from her fellow sardines, she made a beeline to her office of choice and knocked in a friendly manner at the door, instantaneously ignoring the distaste of the secretary who glanced at her with obvious disdain.

"I don't know why he bothers with that little twerp," her bitter tone vibrates to the other gorgeous secretary leaning over the maroon wooden desk.

While they were gorgeous with their shiny blonde hair and prettily painted pink lips, Mabel could not see the appeal of two stuck up women picking on a nineteen year old. Honestly, how much of a threat could she be that they had labeled her as enemy number one? Apparently quite the threat when the door opened to reveal a figure that the two women and most others, no matter their gender, gossiped about daily with looks of either jealousy or intense admiration.

Turning her cheek to better protect herself from the burn of hatred, she smiled nervously, "Hi, Mr. Wayne, I, uh, I tried to pick up what you wanted from the grocery store for lunch, but I kind of dropped them and I understand if you're mad at me, but I'll reimburse you I promise!" Her tone increased pitch as her explanation reached to ridiculous lengths. "And if you want I can go back out and try to get them again, I just wanted to check in so you would know I didn't get murdered or anything," she finished, gulping in a breath of air and feeling like an idiot.

She knew, just _knew_ , that those two blondes were smirking at her behavior, reassuring themselves that this was it for her, that she would finally get kicked to the curb. But Mabel knew better. She knew the real Mr. Wayne and felt guilty that he was too kind to take her mechanical pencils and limited office supplies to throw them out the window.

She would have missed her bobble head of Groot if he had been sent flying fifteen stories down only to smash into some angry taxi driver's windshield. The bobble head was much better with his head still attached. She may not have had a specially designed high heel tape dispenser like the blondes, but she did have a few objects that would thoroughly explain her lack of adulthood, Groot being only the beginning.

Instead of looking the least bit stern (or ready to open the office window), which the gossiping hens expected, Mr. Wayne laughed, as Mabel had expected, and smiled brilliantly, "I was thinking lunch out today was a better idea anyway. What do you feel like having?" Awkwardly understanding that he meant going to lunch together, she reluctantly thought it would be healthy to bond a little and replied, "Anything you want is fine, I'm not too picky." She ignored the huff she heard across the room, tugging on a strand of long brown hair, trying to calm her clenched features.

Seemingly unaware of her intimidated stance, the formidable man placed his finely suited arm across her shoulders, leading Mabel towards the elevator while thoughtfully listing several expensive restaurants. If someone like Mabel had been listing the restaurants, chain restaurants would be included like Dominoes and she'd be spitting them out rather than silkily suggesting. He was far too regal for that she supposed. Perhaps out of the eyes of the upper class he would allow them to go to Burger King or McDonald's instead. She didn't want to keep him from work too long, even though this was probably the purpose of their outing.

If there was one thing she could thoroughly enjoy from their conjoint position, it was that she was less of a sardine in the elevators, since everyone became overly concerned with wrinkling his Armani attire. If it weren't for his guardian like actions, she would have admitted in her thoughts to appreciate a man in a suit, especially one with a beautiful tie the color of freshly kissed lips. Yet, she held that thought in as much as she could because she was never good with attraction and wanted to avoid as much of it as possible.

Unable to convince him to spend more time at the office, they ended up at an aquatic themed restaurant where a steak cost about three nice dresses for her from favorite stores. Her favorite stores were certainly not his favorite, she noted in her mind unable to stop herself from her suit obsession.

She sighed at her own thoughts and he tilted his head, "Is something the matter?" Shaking her head in a 'no', she tried to better explain herself. She was always too expressive and wore her heart on her sleeve, was known for being that way her whole life, so she believed it even in the toughest of situations. "You already do so much for me, I feel like I'm not pulling my weight and I know you're too kind to push me out of your life. I wouldn't have come to you if I'd had another way."

She couldn't even look at him saying what she'd felt. She could go on for hours, but didn't want to push it too far, to push _him_ too far. Even though she knew it was selfish, she needed him and hoped he didn't think she was a nuisance or at least hoped someday he wouldn't.

"Mabel, don't think like that," he reached out to grab her hand soothingly, "I wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, Alfred likes having someone else to dote on and would be miserable if you decided to distance yourself from us. Who's going to educate him on modern music if you leave?" He joked, but his eyes remained serious. With a weak laugh she asked, "Do they have apple pie here? I've been craving some all day." "If you can figure out which French word means apple pie, by all means," and together they laughed genuinely, a rare occurrence for the two of them, for they had experienced things uncommon to most that they knew and it had changed them.

Things seemed to get easier, get better with each day and maybe if she faked it, pretended everything was okay for a while, it _would_ be okay. And with Mr. Wayne, no Bruce, as he corrected almost constantly, she could try to move on and have a new beginning. A part of her felt like that was giving up though and she could never discern whether it was better to leave it be or pursue an unlikely past, a past gone cold in her heart to even mention.

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Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story! I hope you enjoyed it and this was my first one. I would appreciate constructive criticism and any comments you may have on the story in the reviews. I tried to double space it, but I can't for the life of me figure out how to reformat this on the website. Well, I'm so glad you read it, see you next time!


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